House burned down
We were all set to celebrate – but then disaster struck…
Presents under our tree, decorations draped along the walls...
All that my kids, Laiella, 8, Evie-rose, 6, and Albert-lee, 2, could talk about was what Santa might be bringing them.
‘There’s weeks to go yet!’ I told the girls as we got ready for school on 7 December last year.
The kids’ dad Ricky came to look after Albert-lee.
Blowing kisses and waving to their brother and Sandy, our Yorkie-cross dog, the girls hopped into the car.
The kids went off to class, and I started work as a teaching assistant.
A normal morning, we had breakfast club, then assembly, then lessons.
As I sat there at the desk, enjoying the familiar buzz of the classroom, suddenly, the head teacher walked in.
‘Lesleigh, can you get your belongings and come
with me, please?’ she asked. Was I in trouble? I’d done nothing wrong! She placed her hand on my arm as we went into the corridor… ‘There’s been a fire. Your house has burned down,’ she told me. Panic ripped through me. Albert-lee!
Running out to my car, I was crying, shaking.
Before I started the ignition, Ricky showed up at the gate.
‘Albert-lee’s with my mum,’ he said straightaway. ‘He’s safe.’ Relief! Only, then… ‘But Sandy’s dead,’ he added, sadly. Our poor pooch. Ricky drove me to his mum’s. ‘I’d taken Albert-lee out for breakfast, but the neighbours saw my van outside and called the number on the side,’ he told me.
Thankfully, nobody had been in the house at the time apart from poor Sandy.
Arriving at Ricky’s mum’s, I held Albert-lee close as he looked at me, eyes confused. I tried to think straight. All we had were the clothes on our backs.
But, most importantly, we needed somewhere to live.
The girls would be leaving school in a few hours.
So my twin sister Lacey came with me to the council offices, where I was told I had to show proof of the fire damage.
Ricky sent me pictures and a video, but I couldn’t bear to watch them.
We were offered a singlebedroom, one-bathroom place seven miles away.
‘OK, seeing as it’s only temporary,’ I agreed.
I was certainly in no position to be picky. I headed back to Ricky’s mum’s, where my friend had brought the girls back from school. ‘Is it true our house burned down, Mummy?’ Laiella asked innocently.
But, not wanting them
As I sat at the desk, the head teacher walked in…
to be sad, I brushed the question off, saying we were going on an adventure.
That we’d be moving into a new home for a little while…
‘Sandy’s gone to live with the Fire Brigade,’ my friend told the girls when they asked after their beloved pup. Thankfully, they accepted it. But, when we arrived at our new place, my heart sank.
There was no cooker or curtains, and just two camp beds with thin duvets.
The windows were smothered with a thick layer of mould, and there was barely room to move.
It was a world away from the cosy, two-bed privately rented house we’d called home for six years.
Friends and family rallied round, giving us clothes and toiletries, a second-hand sofa, a double bed, microwave and telly.
A few days later, I found the courage to go back to our old house.
‘Everything’s gone,’ I gasped to Lacey, as the two of us, in gloves and masks, traipsed through the rubble.
A chandelier and mirror were smashed on the ground.
The kids’ toybox was nothing but ashes, a scooter was melted to the wall. And their Christmas presents were a smoky black mound…
I’d hoped to salvage some sentimental bits, but the search was fruitless. Every memento – their hospital papers and wristbands from their births, their baby photos – all of it was gone. Devastating.
Fire investigators told us that the blaze had been caused by a faulty wireless vacuum.
For Christmas Day, we spent a few hours in the hostel before going to Ricky’s mum’s.
For the next six months, the four of us shared a bed.
Almost every day, I rang the council.
But a shortage of properties meant that we were in a queue of other desperate families.
And I’d no answers to the kids’ questions…
‘Mummy, was my teddy in the fire?’ ‘When are we going home?’ ‘When is Sandy coming home?’
Three months on, I contacted our MP Julian Brazier.
But there was nothing anyone could do.
Without a cooker, I took the kids to their nan’s every day, so they’d get a hot meal.
It hit me hard. Diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, I needed counselling.
The children were affected, too, waking in the night from horrible nightmares.
‘What if you died, Mummy? Who would look after us?’ Evie asked one day.
Finally, 10 months after the fire, some good news came…
And, on 25 September this year, we moved into a lovely, two-bedroom house.
It’s taken a long time to rebuild our lives. And some things are irreplaceable.
I still can’t believe I walked out of my front door that morning with the perfect life.
And that, in just a few hours, my whole world was turned upside down.
But I know we’re lucky we weren’t there at the time of the blaze.
Now settled, I can’t wait for Christmas this year. To sit around the tree with my children, watch them open their presents…
It’ll be a world away from where we were last year.
Wristbands from their births, their baby photos – all gone